Camping Trip
by Cumberbatch Critter
Summary: In which Sherlock and John go on a camping trip... and John is smart at three in the morning, Sherlock is probably just a little bit impressed, and going with the obvious answer here is the best choice, after all.


**Camping Trip**

_It was never simple. It was just never simple when it came to Sherlock Holmes. No, Sherlock had to go camping, because he was bored, and because he had heard of a stray, near-extinct creature roaming through the woods._

_"What are the odds, Sherlock? Seriously, what are the odds?" John had grumbled as he had packed a small bag of clothes. It was a one day thing. He had refused to join Sherlock for any longer than a day._

_"Well, if you look at the time of day and the place, combined with the proper amount of-"_

_John had interrupted him before he could on. John really didn't care nor want to hear what the odds were. He had long since been resigned to the fact that Sherlock would never understand the meaning of _rhetorical_._

_So, here they were. Here they were..._

"Here we are," John announced, dropping the bags. He had been the one to carry his bag, the bag of food, the sleeping bags, and the tent. Typical Sherlock was just carrying his own bag, in which a pair of binoculars and John's laptop had went.

"Wonderful, John. I'll start the fire. Did you bring the food?"

"Of course, but why go all out on this, Sherlock? We aren't living in the 1800's. We probably could have strung electricity out here or something..." John muttered. "An RV would have been nice, actually," he continued to himself as he began to set the tent up.

"John, what are you doing? That doesn't go there."

"Oh, sorry, Sherlock. I would know all about camping. I don't really have time for vacations when I'm _working with you!_"

"Don't be tetchy. Here, you handle the food. I'll set up the tent."

Some minor complications, switching of appointed jobs, a fully erected tent, and an actual surprisingly filling dinner later, both men had succumbed into silence.

Well, almost.

"... What are you doing in here, Sherlock," John questioned, tight-lipped, trying to ignore the brush of fabric that was their sleeves. The tent was rather small and Sherlock was still his rather lanky self, and putting John into the mix gave them little to no room at all.

John had brought a sleeping bag for Sherlock out of habit. He hadn't honestly counted on Sherlock to use it. Sherlock didn't like sleep, after all.

"I'm not waiting out there, John. There's too many bugs. Not to mention the undying fact that wildlife will not come near if they think a threat is imminent."

"How are you supposed to find it, then?" John hissed back, rolling over onto his side. He was rather near a temper tantrum, he was sure, but Sherlock threw those all the time so he liked to think he could get a bit of leniency now and again.

"I'll wait in here until I hear it."

"Oh, well, obviously," John replied sarcastically, squeezing his eyes shut.

Sherlock turned out to be quite the remarkably quiet companion after this initial conversation, and John was glad for that. He could settle into awkwardness. Awkwardness was one thing, but noise was another. He could not sleep with someone talking into his ear.

Be that as it may, it didn't stop Sherlock from nudging him awake several hours later.

"John... John?"

John grumbled something incoherent in response, blinking his eyes open.

"John, look up and tell me what you see."

"Look up...? Oh, God, Sherlock, what now?" he muttered. He was on his back again, he tossed in his sleep a bit, so he focused on the sky above him. Half-drugged with sleep, he replied: "I see a... fantastic panorama of countless stars."

"And what does that tell you?"

"Are you trying to be clever, because it's far too early..." Sensing Sherlock was still waiting on an answer, John sighed and rubbed his eyes. Fine. If Sherlock wanted to play this ridiculous game, he would play it. "Astronomically, it tells me that there are millions of galaxies and potentionally billions of planets." He paused to think. "Astrologically, I observe that Saturn is in Leo." Take that, Sherlock. Look, he had done his homework. Sherlock wanted to play clever games just to prove a point, well, John would prove a point, all right. "Horologically, I deduce," he half-sneered; God, he was tired, and Sherlock relished that word, deduce, "that the time is approximately a quarter past three. Theologically, I can see that God is all powerful," Sherlock huffed a bit, seeming bored, but John went on, "and that we are small and insignificant." Even you, Sherlock, even you. "Meteorologically, I suspect that we will have a beautiful day tomorrow. Why?" he mused, finally, after taking a breath. "What does it tell you, Sherlock?"

John let his eyes rove over to his silent companion, smirking, waiting on the response that would finally compliment him and actually _mean_ it. He was sure that he had outdone himself this time; he was absolutely sure.

"Perfectly sound analysis, but I was actually going for the fact someone has stolen our tent."

John stopped, looked back to the sky, the stars, and sighed. "Sherlock... you make me think too hard," he muttered, before turning over, groping for the blanket, and easing back into sleep.

A missing tent wasn't a big deal when you lived with Sherlock Holmes.

* * *

**AN: I just found that joke/riddle/thing about... forty minutes ago, for the first time ever. I immediately had to work it into fanfiction. I updated it a bit... and yeah, I wonder if I'm the only one who things John sounds adorable when he's sleepy and prone to anger.**

**If convenient, click Review.**

**If inconvenient, click Review anyway.**

**Could make me happy.**

**(Thanks!)**


End file.
